Lucy's mouth aches from holding back her smiles as she leans on the doorjamb to the sitting room, watching Harry fiddle with the back of the television set with something that certainly wouldn't be found in an ordinary toolkit.  He's so absorbed in what he's doing that he doesn't seem to notice her at all, and despite the news she has to impart, Lucy can't bring herself to interrupt him for several long moments.  Finally, though, she does speak, and her voice quivers, just a little bit.

'Harry, darling?'